


Ofaegon

by Sookiestark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Captivity, F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-02-08 23:03:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12874938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sookiestark/pseuds/Sookiestark
Summary: In a Westeros, where Jon and Daenerys defeat Cersei and the White Walkers, they return to King's Landing to start their happy ever after. Once they arrive Daenerys becomes obsessed with having a baby and an heir. Seemingly unable to get pregnant, she creates handmaidens or Black Brides to help her carry the heir. Ofaegon, once Sansa Stark, has been promised once she gives birth to the heir that she can return North and to her daughter, absolved from any treason that her years of affiliation with Petyr Baelish. Will she be able to get pregnant and carry the heir?A Handmaid's Tale and Game of Thrones crossover fanfic-





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been rattling in my head for almost a year. It is just for fun. Don't overthink it. There are glaring holes and the stories don't line up. I promise it will be fun though.. Like who is the father to Sansa's daughter? Does Jon know that Daenerys is keeping Sansa's daughter hostage for her good behavior? Who gets to be Nick.. Tyrion? Sandor?
> 
> Please be reminded that this is a loosely based story on Handmaid's Tale so there will be some Non-Con and Jon and Daenerys are not super sympathetic as the Commander and the Commander's Wife
> 
> there will only be about 5 chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are only going to be about 5 chapters- Please remember this is a dark story full of triggers. If you don't want to read it, don't read it. 
> 
> Also Jon and Dany are the Commander and the Commander's wife and so are not super sympathetic characters.
> 
> You have been warned.

A small table with a plain wooden chair. A small bed, no canopy, no curtains. No ornaments. No decoration. Three red dresses. Two pairs of shoes, sturdy for walking. I am allowed walks; walks to the sept, walks to the garden, walks to the throne room. Walking is good for fertility and babies. Exercise and fresh air are good for healthy strong babies. The Queen is desperate for her own healthy baby.

No books, no scrolls. No ink or quill. They do not want me to write. They want me to forget to unlearn what I know. They do not want me to read or learn. I am here for one purpose and one purpose only. To carry the heir that the Queen cannot. I am Queen Daenerys’ handmaiden. I am a Black Bride of House Targaryen, entrusted with the most important job in Westeros to give birth to a heir. Perhaps, if I do this, I will be able to have all the things I have lost. I will be able to regain my old name, my voice, my clothes and my child. 

For now, my name is Ofaegon. 

King Aegon VII and his wife aunt, Queen Daenerys are like Targaryens of old. They ride dragons, have a direwolf as big as a pony, and they saved humanity against an army of the dead.. It is said that King Aegon has come back from dead himself and that the Queen is resistant to fire. All these things are true, I saw them with my own eyes and would tell the story but I do not have a voice anymore. One day I will talk again, when I am Sansa.

For all the epic tales of adventure and supernatural skills, the King and Queen seem unable to have a child. So, I, the most ordinary of the King’s cousins, was chosen for this task. After all, I have no skills like my brother, the Three- Eyed Raven, or my sister, a Faceless Man, but I have had a healthy child. I also must prove my loyalty. After all, I was in the tutelage of Littlefinger for much of the past few years. There are many things I must correct and this one act will clear all of them. 

 

A Myrish carpet, the stone and wood covered dragons in the staircases .. There is a locked door to the Maidenvault behind the Sept. Behind that door is where I live. Under lock and key. Locked away like Baelor’s sister wives. The humor is not lost on me. In fact, there is much to laugh about in my life, especially of you don’t have to live it.

While I walk through the Red Keep, I keep my head down and focus on the sound of my steps, focus on the passage of time. Focus on how many steps to the kitchen, to the sept, to the godswood. I have walked these paths before and I know how many steps it takes. However, there is a resistance in counting. They cannot control everything. They cannot control my thoughts, my secret resistance.. Counting steps.

I am allowed to sew and embroider during the day, but I am not allowed scissors. Septa Lydia holds the scissors and she cuts the strings that I need cut.

I am allowed to pray..

They know who I was before now. The Kingsguard avert their eyes, so they don’t have to look at me. I hear the snickers of Court, but it is not the first time I have heard them laugh at me. I will outlast these people too. Change and adapt. 

We don't speak but Tyrion looks at me. He sees me and he looks worried, troubled at the way events have happened. I know he is trying to help me in the small ways he can. 

My name is Ofaegon and I know this is why they keep me hidden in red with the white wings. To hide me. To make me unnoticeable. Only a uniform. Not a person. I am a nameless vessel of the Seven and I will help the Queen. I am nothing. I am no one, a vessel to hold the heir. Once I deliver an heir, the Queen will have no one to thank but the Seven.

This is not the first time I have lived in captivity here, as a guest, a hostage. This time there are no beatings, or at least, not yet. 

I have been told if I do this it will prove my loyalty and I can return North. The King and Queen need an heir. A living child, not some monstrous, winged, eyeless creature, but a well formed child. There has been at least one handmaid before me and she was found dangling from the chandelier. Now they have taken both that and the canopy. There is no room for escaping. 

Especially something as permanent as death. 

The Queen dreams of a baby and I may be her last hope.

At night, I dream resistance dreams. I dream of the North, of Winterfell, of being the Lady of Winterfell. There are no more Starks left, except me. 

I dream of my daughter, strawberry curls and bright blue eyes, looking up in curiosity and joy. They would like me to forget about my daughter, but I will never forget her. She is the only thing I think about during my days. My secret joy. The Queen says she will return me to Winterfell and return her to me when this is finished. Sometimes, I wonder where Daenerys keeps my daughter, and if she is well cared for..

Petyr Baelish’s head is on a spike outside the Red Keep and I must prove my loyalty to the crown. So, I prove it in the best way possible, for the crown and the queen. I will give the royal couple a child 

Life is broken up in sevens, like the Faith of the Seven. There are seven parts to the day, waking, sleeping, eating, walking, praying, sewing and the ceremony. 

The Hound is my constant companion. He follows me and keeps me safe. After all, he is a Kingsguard and he is protecting the vessel that the future King will live in. I am highly valuable and need protection. He follows me. He watches me. He sees me. He rarely speaks to me. 

He follows me, as I walk in the gardens to the sea. Sometimes, I wonder what it might be like to jump in the sea and let the weight of these heavy, red robes drag me to the bottom of the ocean, or smash me against the sharp black rocks. Sometimes, my guard senses this desire. He is a big man with a burned face. He takes a step closer and asks me to take a step back. 

Today I look at him straight in his eyes and tell him, “Ser, I will not jump. I mean to return to my home soon.” 

“Shhh... little bird, what you speak of is treason. You leave when the Queen says you can.” 

I long to return to the North. I long for baby kisses and a little girl’s hand in mine.


	2. Chapter 2

During the Ceremony I am to think of fertilization, pregnancy, the Mother, the heir. I am not to think of the King, even though he is between my legs. I am to look at the ceiling. I am laying on the edge of the bed, face up, between the Queen’s legs, while the King tries to see if he can make me pregnant. 

I look at the Queen, who is looking anywhere, but her husbands face. I look at Jon and he looks at the post of the bed which is carved with dragons all the way up the posts. During the Ceremony, everyone tries to pretend I am not there at all. 

Once he was my brother, half brother, bastard born, shy boy clutching the scraps of the love he was given. Everyone loved him Father, Bran, Arya, Rickon and Robb. Only Mother and I reserved our feeling from him. Mother was cold, distant, sometimes cruel, but her cruelty was only in her absence of affection. Children crave mothers and she never held or cared for Jon Snow. If only she knew…

I have seen the way he looks at me. I know it is a secret but he chose me to be the handmaiden to the Queen. I heard Varys say it. I wonder if he chose me to get me out of the Black Cells and away from the executioner's sword or if he did it for other reasons. 

I wonder if he loves to see my red hair against his wife’s pale thighs. 

I wonders what desires he has that stirs him. I has heard the Queen is jealous of me and my red hair. The King has a wild affection for redheads and once in his youth he loved a red haired girl. She died in his arms, his true love with her hair red like fire. The Queen requests I wear my head in a scarf for the ceremony, because she would catch him looking at it during the Ceremony. 

The King is not supposed to look at me. He can look at the Queen, the wall, the ceiling, his hand on the bed post, but not me. We cannot form attachments or feelings and looking in each others eyes leads to intimacy. There is nothing intimate about the Ceremony, it is only for a child.

It takes him longer than it should, like I am an object, a vessel, and he cannot find anything desirable about this act. I do not exist. Perhaps I am not real. I am in my heavy red wool dress with a white scarf, wrapping my head. The only part of my body unclothed are my legs, but it would be hard to see any of that under the red wool, pushed up to my middle.

I catch his eyes looking into mine, grey like a Stark. It is brief and quick, one glimpse and I am distracted. I panic and look at the Queen. The Queen is looking at tapestry from Essos that she brought from Meereen that is hanging on the wall. I have been told that the Queen takes a potion to soothe her nerves to get through this. She is faraway, distracted, looking at the intricate patterns and faraway designs. She sees nothing and does not notice Jon looking at me.

There is color to his cheeks and I wonder if he drank ale tonight 

He takes his other hand and touches my leg. Underneath all that red cloth, he keeps his hand on my leg. It is forbidden, yet, he does not move it. He needs this connection, this touch. It helps him believe this is different, not what it is. It helps him finish.

When he is finished, they leave together and I am supposed to wait there for his seed to take root. It helps with pregnancy if I wait a few moments. When I am ready to get up, it is the Hound who comes to collect me. He watches me, as I push my dress down my legs. He makes no motion to help me from the bed. Ungracefully, I push down off the big bed. 

In the morning, I usually eat alone. The Hound is of course behind me, always present, always near. 

Missandei eats with me this morning. Usually, the morning after a ceremony night, she will sit with me and eat breakfast. I wonder if it is her way of showing care. Perhaps, she sympathizes with me. Perhaps, my stay here is another form of slavery and it hurts her to see me used by her Queen, the Breaker of Chains in such a way. A baby is a precious thing and has made Daenerys forget herself and swallow all her beliefs. 

In some way, I understand Daenerys because I know the lengths I would go to have my own daughter back.

After we are done eating together, she walks with me to the godswood. We stop at a bench in the gardens. Missandei peels a mango and we eat it slice by slice. I am sure if you could eat sunshine it would taste like mango. She is very careful with the knife. I do not get to touch it and she puts it in her bag when we are done, so that it is away from me. I cannot be trusted. I am dangerous, unpredictable.

Missandei tells me she will come and sew with me this afternoon. She will sometimes sew with me and we talk, like women do about the weather, and the repairs done to the Red Keep and King’s Landing, about new foals that were born last night in the stables. We discuss simple superficial things. Small talk. Things appropriate for women. 

I am praying in the godswood when I hear something in the trees. It is not the Hound. I have learned to hear his steps without looking. Anyway, I know the Hound gets sick of watching me pray and reflect and will leave me to my Old Gods alone. The Hound mocks me for my faith, “If there were any gods, you would be home, not here.”

I am starting to think he is right but I will still act devout. My piety helps me appear weak, vulnerable, submissive. It helps people underestimate me. I need to appear this way to all of them. It will help. 

Tyrion comes from behind the trees. He tells me that he would like to help me, that he has a plan. That he would like me to find a way to get free. This is not the first time someone has plotted with me in this godswood. I almost laugh. I am grateful for his words for his help. Tyrion is clever and if anyone can help me, he will be able to get me safe in Winterfell.

However, it is not just my safety, I am concerned with. I hesitate. After all, I do not know whether to trust him or if this is a trap. I do not know his loyalties anymore. This is my only chance. I decide to take the risk and suffer the consequences.

“My Lord, I cannot leave without someone. I have a daughter. Please find her for me.” 

Tyrion’s face is disbelief, shock. “A daughter?”

“She is five. Her name is Cathryn. I will not leave this place without her. The Queen has placed her somewhere for my continued good behavior.”

I cannot believe I have kept this from him for so long and how easily it comes out of my mouth. 

“A five year old daughter.” Tyrion repeats the words I spoke. He knows that he is her father. I can see it on his face.

“No one told me.” 

“You were in Essos or believed to be dead and I was Alayne Stone. How could I send word? Please, Tyrion, help me.”

“The Queen never told me.” 

“I did not tell her who her father was…”

I understand that this is a shock for him and upsetting, but I need him to process the knowledge quickly. We do not have much time to talk freely. The Hound could return any moment. Tyrion breaths and realizes that he cannot take long to talk to me.

“Our Queen is not stupid. It is simple enough to figure out who her father is. I will find her, Sansa. I will get her and you back to Winterfell. You are not a traitor and you should not be used in such a way.”

However, Tyrion seems to think on this, as he walks through the godswood, leaving her to pray. 

After some time, the Hound comes into the godswood to collect her. If he knows of Tyrion meeting with her, he makes no mention of it and his face reveals nothing. He leans into her and she feels his strong tall body against her back. There is a small thrill of him being so close. It has been a long time since anyone has been that close. “I have a message from our King for you, little bird. King Aegon VII would like to see you in his study tonight. I will come and collect you. Be ready.”

The Queen is not allowed in his study. It is the place the King goes to be alone. He rarely lets the household servants in there. It is his place to get away from the Queen and the court. 

As we walk back to my room, I think on this information. Why would the King want to see me? Perhaps, Tyrion was a trap to test my loyalty and I have failed. I remind myself that is just one scenario. There are other reasons the King might want to see me and try to calm myself.

 

Later, after dark, the Hound comes to escort me. I am wearing my red wool dress, my white hat, my sturdy walking shoes. I remind myself if the King knew about my plans of escape that I would be headed to the throne room, so all could see Targaryen justice against traitors. Instead, I am going to his study. There is something about him inviting me to his private study, something worse and more secretive than punishment.

When I walk in his study, I know why he comes here. It is simple compared to the rest of the Red Keep. There is a bear rug before the fire and black and grey furs on the couch. There are two big heavy wooden chairs and a table in front of the fire . The chairs are huge and heavy, but simple with little decoration. There are some books on a desk in the corner. It reminds me of Winterfell and the North. He even has his old banner the white wolf on a field of grey, hanging over the fireplace. King Aegon VII comes here to be his true self, Jon Snow. He comes here to rest in his own skin. I wonder how much of my brother Jon remains under that golden crown of dragons. 

Jon waves the Hound away, but I know he waits for me outside the door. I have forgotten how handsome the King is. Jon looks so much like my father, but they are not identical, as some have said. Jon is refined where father was all First Men and North like a weirwood tree or Winterfell. My father was lined, etched and hard. Jon, on the other hand, has a refined quality behind the Stark look, magical and otherworldly, like he is too beautiful to be real. 

Sansa’s mouth is dry. She curtsies and speaks, “My King, Your Grace..” 

“Sansa, here you can call me Jon and I will call you Sansa.” 

 

Another secret they share. 

Jon asks me to sit in a chair at the table. He has a cyvasse board setup. We play cyvasse like we were children and talk of the weather, the sweet shipment of mangoes from the Summer Isles, and how warm a summer we are having. As the night grows late, the conversation gets familiar, the color of Lady’s eyes, how tall Rickon would have been if he had lived, whether Bran would have been on the Kingsguard if he had not fallen from the tower. He teases me like they were family again and I finds myself smiling for real, enjoying the time here with him. 

 

I let him win the first game and then I win the second. He yawns and says the hour grows late. I gather myself to leave. As I say goodbye, he steps closer to me, too close. I can almost feel his breath.

He speaks, looking at my eyes, which should be downcast. Instead, I am looking back into his grey ones. Jon speaks, almost in a whisper. “Sansa, I have missed you. I have missed talking to you. You should not have agreed to the Queen's proposal. You should not being doing this for her, for us.” 

“If I can prove my loyalty to the Queen, the North will always be held in high regard. It is important. You deserve a child.” 

Before I leave, it seems as if he wants to tell me something, ask me something. He says nothing and it grows awkward and uncomfortable waiting for him to speak his thoughts. 

 

I want to talk about my daughter Cathryn and ask where she is, to find out if he knows and if he will tell me. I am starting to believe he doesn't know but I do not want to underestimate anyone. Often I have been underestimated. Petyr would tell me to think of every outcome, every possibility, plan for every possible outcome for every possible scenario and you will be prepared. You will never be surprised he would say.

I smile at him and say nothing else. My smile says everything. It is shy and flirtatious, expectant, full of promise. It means everything 

When I leave, I brush against him and he does not step away. I almost can hear him breath my hair’s scent. 

A week later, the Queen comes to my rooms and asks me how I am feeling. She wants to know if I am pregnant. If it took yet. She is wondering if I am damaged. After the war, many of the women have been unable to conceive. The Queen is started to get afraid that I might be damaged.

Already, I have been here for six months. I will pray harder. Surely, the Mother will allow me the gift this month. However, in a fortnight, I bleed. The Queen is disappointed and will not let me leave my room for a week. 

On the seventh day, the Hound comes for me and opens my locked door. 

“Good morning, Little Bird.”  
“Good Morning, Ser.”  
“Would you like to go to the kitchens for a walk?”

I am so happy I want to hug him. I don’t. Instead, I give him my best smile and let him lead the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. I think The Hound is Nick and thats going to happen in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again.. read the warnings- However, this chapter is mostly sweet. Just Sansa and the Hound..

I have become good at finding the beauty in ugly things, finding love in the unlovable.

The first time I went to the Hound was when the Queen brought me to his chambers. Queen Daenerys had come to my rooms unannounced after lunch. Her beautiful face seemed troubled and she had dark circles around her eyes. 

“You must come with me.” was all she said to me and I followed. 

I was slightly confused, instead of leading me out into the hallway, she pushed a secret door open in my fireplace. “You will forget this is a doorway.”

“Of course, your Grace,” My eyes are downcast because I am afraid she will see the lie in them. Through the dark passageway, she has only a lantern but it is as if she knows the way. Like the smart sister in a children’s tale, I count my steps and try to burn every detail in my mind. I do not know where we go but there is a treachery about it. She does this without her Kingsguard and without Jon’s knowledge. Daenerys is ashamed of where we are going and what she is doing. 

We stand for a second in the darkness at a door. there is a huge relief of a sun and a sword. Daenerys looks at me and I see she is uncomfortable. Daenerys speaks, “I am afraid that the King may have been injured in the War. You have been unable to get with child. Perhaps, the King is unaware of an injury. Perhaps, there was evil magic. there is a loyal subject who has offered his assistance to help us. He will help us get a baby and we can return you to Winterfell. But, we must keep this a secret. For everyone’s sake...” 

Daenerys does not knock. She pushes the door open with both hands, placing the lantern on the floor of the tunnel. We are in a small set of chambers, simple and unadorned. I see the Hound in a chair by the fireplace. there is no fire, and yet, he stares at the ashes. When he hears us, he stands up. I see the uncertainty and shame in his eyes. 

I wonder if he does this for a chance to be close to me. I have seen that look in his eyes, of hopeless want since I was in King’s Landing the first time. Or, it is that he just wants me to have a piece of me he can put on a shelf in his mind?

 

The Queen speaks, breaking the silence,“the Hound said he will help us. I will sit here. Do what you need to..” 

Queen Daenerys sits on a couch and looks out the window at the garden, as if it was too unpleasant to watch or think about or maybe, she is trying to give us privacy. I cannot know the Queen’s thoughts. She looks at the gardens. 

The Hound looks at me, but he doesn’t touch me, not with his fingers, no soft kisses with his lips. But his eyes are hungry and burning in his sad, ruined face. Demurely, I take my small clothes off underneath my dress. He watches me show as little skin as possible but I feel naked under his eyes. He picks up my small clothes in his fist, casually so the queen won’t notice, and moves toward me, untying his pants with one hand. I lay back. Carefully, he propped himself on top of me. He couldn't speak to me, not with words, not with the Queen listening. He looked in my eyes and spoke volumes with his soul searching eyes.

I feel him lift up my skirts, parting my legs, gently, as if he is asking for permission. the Hound positions himself between my legs that I open for him. I feel him take his cock and rub it against me, parting my sex. With a push and a breath, he is inside me and his eyes are searching mine for a reaction, however small, an affirmation that I want him inside me. When I look in his eyes, there is a small swell of heat, just being with him, even if it is this stiff awkward encounter while the Queen pretends to not watch. 

His gaze never breaks mine. He does not touch any part of me or kiss me. the act does not take long and we never stop looking at each other. 

When he was done, he got up and tied his pants in the corner. I lay there for a few quick minutes until the Queen could no longer take her treachery and snaps at me that we must leave. the Queen is silent in the tunnels, as she leads me back to the Maidenvault. I appreciate her silence.

As night falls and cools the Red Keep, it makes me restless. I find myself unwilling to lie still in my small uncomfortable bed. Against my better judgement, I find myself in the same darkened tunnel the Queen took me down. In the darkness of the tunnels and my doubts, I recounted the steps tracing my fingers against the cold stone wall in the darkness, until I felt relief of a sword and a sunburst. I saw his light underneath the door from the fire in the fireplace. 

As I pushed the door in, he hears the sound and stands to see who was coming through the secret passage to his chambers. 

“Little Bird, you should not be here,” but he steps closer, closer as if drawn to me.

I answer him, “My name is Sansa, not Little Bird.”

He smiles and it makes him handsome, even with his terrible burns. “Of course… Hello, Sansa. Nice to meet you. I am Sandor.”

When he speaks his real name, it sounds awkward unfamiliar, a collection of sounds he has not spoken in a very long time. It is a game he is playing with me, part joke, part sarcasm, part bitterness. What can people in terrible circumstance do except laugh about how terrible it is? It is vulnerable and human and I feel that flutter in her ribcage that I have not felt in years. I have missed that feeling. 

Sandor asks, “Why are you here?”

He is so close; he was close enough to touch. I can feel the heat of his body. He is so much bigger this near to him, the size of his hands, his shoulders, the heat of him beneath the cloth. It is almost too much, overpowering.

I press my finger against his lips to silence any protest and started unthreading the ties of his tunic. My throat was dry and tight, when he placed his hands on my hips. He starts to help me untie his clothes and I push his hands away. This is about me, me taking him apart, about pleasure for pleasure’s sake.

I reached up close to his face. He turns away, instinctively, so I will not touch the burned part. I take my palm and place it against the unburned side. I do not want him to feel ugly or ruined. I know too well how it is to feel that way. I want him to feel cherished and beautiful. We may be powerless but there is beauty and joy in some things still. As I lift his tunic over his head, I let my fingers rest on his chest, exposed skin covered in hair and scars. I feel the bulge against my stomach, but he makes no move to touch me.

I take off my robe, my dress, my underdress. Watching me, there is a sadness to him and this dark room in the White Tower. But there is a sadness draped over the Red Keep and we each wear it in our own way. For this small time, I prefer to wear nothing at all. Soon enough, I will wear sorrow again 

 

He growls, impatient and hungry, but I do not touch my lips to his. I leans on my tiptoes and touch his face, as close to him as possible without kissing. When I do finally kiss him, it is slow, as if we have all day and all night, as if this isn’t forbidden, as if this won’t get us killed. 

I have forgotten what it feels like to be held. To curl next to him is a luxury, from a time before, from a time I never have had. I take his head and gently guide it to my breast, Obediently and sweet, he takes the pale pink nipple between his lips.In a second, I am curled in heat and burning want. He lifts me up and carries me to the bed,kissing my neck, lost in the red tangle of my hair.

I love the blue of his eyes and how his face looks when I am on top of him, naked. I wait for him to grab my hips and pull me toward him, feel the thrust and the ache, the closeness. Any feeling feels good. It feels like being alive. It feels like before. I am wild for him and can never get enough.

I spend the night in his arms, telling myself I will leave in a few minutes but finding myself drawn back to him between the sheets. Finally, I pull away and dress quietly. He pretends to sleep but I know he listens to me dress and leave. As I leave, I promise myself I will never come back.

 

After the second night, I find a candle and a tinderbox outside my entrance to the tunnel, in case I might come to him. It is the closest he comes to inviting me; it is the only way he asks me to come back, as if he knew I would come back to his room before I did.

I find myself going back night after night, like a bird to a window. This will certainly kill me and yet I come back for more. Love and desire is heady stuff.

I have memorized the path in the dark. I think I know this path, as well as I know my heart beat, as well as the shape of his body between my legs. I have learned the shape of us together and how we fit together, the soft sweet hurt as he pushes deeper and my hips lift up to meet him. 

Mostly, he is so sweet, so gentle, that I wonder how someone so big, so full of rage and violence can touch so lightly. Sometimes, I can barely feel it and when I do it feels like a smile and heartbreak. Sometimes I like it but there are other times I want the rage, the desire, the tips of his fingers as rough as brick, the burns on his face, his beard rubbing roughly on all my tender. untouched flesh. He gives me that as well, as if he can read my mind. He gives me what I want. 

He likes to drive me wild until I am begging for him to fuck me. As he licks me, I bite my hand to keep from calling out his. But, he continues, as if he knows my body’s capacity to hold desire is so much greater than I ever believed. Afterward, he will kiss my bruised hand and tease me to use the pillow next time. 

 

With him and I, it is all about me. I decide if I will come to his chambers or I won’t. He has no say at all, though when he sees me, his ruined face brightens. He never tries to persuade me to come and see him. He does not take the initiative; it is all me. Sometimes as I lay in his arms, I have an urge to tease him, as if I was just a girl and he a knight, just two common folk who love each other. With sweet whispers, I want to say to him that I know he is in love with me and see his reaction. I imagines he would pull me to him, denying it with a growl, even as he confirmed it with his kiss. I never do because I could not bear to hear him say the words.

 

I spend my days trying to hide my giddiness. Finally, I have a secret a forbidden joy. I am fascinated at how much joy I can find in his arms. Though there are only a few forbidden hours, I can stretch them in my memory to last throughout the entire day.

On the morning of the fourth night I have spent in his room, the Hound comes with me to the godswood to watch me pray, to make sure I am safe. He is dressed in his armor and his white robes and I am all in red. We are pretending to be what we were before, but I feel that every pair of eyes that looks at us can see the truth. I turn back in the darkness of the trees, when I know we are far from all the eyes that watch us, to smile at him. 

He smiles back, halfheartedly.

When we get to the heart’s tree, he comes to stand beside me and I turn to look at him. I see  
the red mark on his neck and thinks about how I made it, pressed against the wall of his room, as he lifted me against the wall and fucked me. I had whispered his name when I had come and bit down on his neck, “Sandor.”

 

Leaning down, like he will kiss me, the press of his body in his armor is different and dangerous and I want him so much that it is hard to breathe. He looks at my eyes and touches my face. He speaks, “The King would like you to come to his study tonight.”

Kissing me so gently, I can taste the love. He walks away, leaving me to my prayers alone.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, I go to the King’s study. Jon seems troubled. I can remember the look on his face as a child, when there was a riddle or a puzzle he could not solve. However when he sees me, his eyes brighten and the trouble seems to erase from his brow. Jon is always glad to see me and I am glad to see him. 

Jon stands and greets me. Teasing, he speaks, “You look different. There is color to your cheeks. Perhaps you have fallen in love.”

Smiling a hint of a smile, I tease him “Perhaps..”

My heart is fluttering. Is it the mention of love and the memory of the Hound’s mouth on my body or the King’s hand on my shoulder? There is a double meaning to all the words the King and I speak. He might believe I am speaking of him. Perhaps, there is a part of me that is speaking of him.

We play cyvasse, talk about simple things, tell stories, and laugh. While we are playing cyvasse, he notices the mark on my neck made by the Hound’s mouth as he bit me.

He is too close and he touches my neck, “What is that ?”

“A bug bite. Summer is here and the bugs are everywhere with the heat and the garbage of King’s Landing. ”

I look at his eyes and he follows the curve of my neck down to my shoulder. His grey eyes meet my blue eyes. “Be more careful. We can’t have you all bitten up. Take care. What will the Queen say?”

Every night for the better part of a week, Jon sends for me to his study. Every night after I leave the King, I guide myself through the tunnels to the Hound’s chambers, where we lay in each other’s arms for hours. 

“Sandor.” I whisper his real name, his true name. Old Nan had told me once that there is power in names, what you call yourself and what others call you. It is old form of magic. I call him Sandor all night, every night. 

During the day, he is the Hound to me.

On the sixth night, the Hound kisses me roughly when I enter his room. He speaks in a growl of shame and vulnerability. I can tell he is comfortable with neither feeling. “You should not go to him.” 

I sense the jealousy and the anger. But didn’t he know that I had no choice? I could not refuse the King. Deeper still, there was a part of me who wanted those meetings and would not give them up. I would miss our moments alone together, just the two of us. It reminded me of the few good moments I had as Tyrion’s wife. Or the time when Cathryn was still in my care and the simple joy of just having her in my lap, looking at the mountains of the Vale. Simple pleasures. 

I feel contrary, like I am split in two. There is a war that has gone on inside me, just as there have been wars all over Westeros. Perhaps, I am also in the midst of a civil war, internally. I often wonder which faction might win. I have lied, cheated, killed, and played the game of thrones, as well as anyone, better than most. Petyr did this to me. He split me and made me changeable like he was, to smile and plot, to bow and plan the downfall of your enemies. 

In the end, I realized I was as much Petyr’s enemy, as I was his love. He might have sworn to love my mother, but he hated her as well. After all, she married my father instead of Littlefinger. I am as much a Stark, as I am a Tully. He hated the Stark part of me, despised it. 

Perhaps love and hate are not so far apart. I love Sandor because he loves me and there is so much between us, but if I was not here in this place, would I even notice him? Perhaps, I love him only because he is as trapped as I am. I love Jon and yet I hate him for allowing me to make this agreement with the Queen, for going along with it so willingly. But still, I love him. 

In the end, I chose to be here, to be indispensable to the crown. I wanted power and I wanted a pardon. I wanted a favor as great as a child to be owed to me by the Dragon Queen. What power would that be to give her a baby, the one thing she wanted? I played the part of penance and pardon but it was power I played for.

 

Even the costume is to protect me. So when the heir is born, I can be the Lady of Winterfell and no one will ever know what I did. No one will speak of it, not anyone who wishes to keep their tongue or their head. 

I look into Sandor’s eyes and wonder how much he truly knows about me and the divisions inside me, the war that rages, the power I crave, the family I wish for. 

Defensive and angry, I speak, “How could I refuse him?.. He is the King.” 

But even as I speak I did not know if it was true. If I told Jon I could not go to his rooms anymore that it was not honorable, would he force me? Wasn’t he the one who begged me not to agree to the Queens’ deal? 

I continue, “All we do is play cyvasse and talk of the old days...” 

Another lie.. How many lies have I spoken since I have come to King’s Landing the first time? They fall easy from my lips and are cast away, like honor and loyalty. 

Sandor speaks softly, “The King longs to take you to his bed. I see it in his eyes.” 

“You are being silly He was once my brother, Ser.”

“And now you fuck him while the Queen watches. Do you dream of him?’

Quickly, maybe too quickly, I said, ”I do not.”

But I could feel the flush of my face. I spoke, “My arrangement is with the Queen and none of your concern.”

“Perhaps, they aren’t.” he growled.

“You knew all of this before I started coming here. Why bring it up?”

“Perhaps, I have found my honor. Perhaps, I want it to end. Perhaps, I want you to go and not return to my rooms again. Perhaps, I am done with your games and treason.“

“Then I will go and I will not return.”

If I wasn't so angry, I might cry but he would not get to choose how I feel. I would not shed my tears on him. I had cried enough for lifetimes. I would not waste another one, especially on a burned and broken Queensguard. I left promising on everything I hold dear I would not return. I would never return to Sandor’s room again.

 

That night when I see the King, Jon asks me to kiss him when it is time for me to return to my room. His hands are folded in his lap. Laughing, I kissed him a dry, chaste kiss. 

“Not that kind, a real kiss..”

Slowly, I lick my lips, watching him look at me licking them. Slowly, I leaned over him, trying to find my balance. I kissed him, softly. My mouth was parted and my tongue traced his lips. When his tongue touches mine, I am overcome with heat and ache. I can barely breathe and my chest burns, 

In my head, I will him to touch me, to move his neatly, folded hands and trace my thighs, my back, my breasts. He does not move them. I let a small moan escape to build his desire. But he does not move to touch me. Jon would not touch me, except for his lips and his tongue. The kiss lasted and my body begged for his touch. Another strangled noise escaped from my lips Finally, I took his hands and put them on my body.

“Kiss me” I said

He did. 

“Touch me, Jon.” 

Pushing him to the floor of his study, unlacing his pants, I slip him inside me. I am so wet, so ready. We are all tongues and touch and heat. I come hard, biting his shoulder. 

Gently, Jon kisses me softly, as I lay on his chest. Rubbing his shoulder, he says in the silence, “That will leave a bruise.”

I laugh and I see light in his eyes,

Later, I wonder, if it ever had happened at all. When I was girl in King’s Landing, I would sometimes make stories up and believe them to be true, kisses, touches, love. When I was a girl, I did not know how to make sense of all of this, the tragedy, the pain, the grief. Perhaps, I am still ill-equipped to make sense of life. 

 

There is one way I know it happened. After that night, I wait for the King to send word to come to his study. He does not, Intimacy is too great a risk. He spent all these months building intimacy, but once it happened his fear was too great to allow it a chance to grow. 

During my days, the Hound still is my guard. He barely looks at me. I don't care.

It happens one morning, unexpectedly. I wake in the morning and as I rise, I get sick to my stomach. My breasts are tender. In the confusion of my feelings, I had forgotten to log my courses. The Maester is sent for and confirms my suspicions; I am pregnant. 

There will be an heir to the Iron Throne. Finally, I see an end to my time in King’s Landing. In a week, the Queen comes to see me. She has news of her own. A miracle has happened. The Queen is also pregnant.

Daenerys smiles sweetly, holding her stomach lovingly, “Do not worry, The children will be raised as twins.”

 

Her smile is as sweet as the lemon cakes that are sent to my room. For the first time in my life, I do not eat any of the lemon cakes.

I cannot stomach them.


	5. Chapter 5

On the day after the announcement, the Hound finds me in the godswood. I am sitting on a bench. He says nothing. He looks me in the eye and falls to his knee, touching my stomach reverently. I have only seen such softness with him when we are alone. 

There is always too much to say and not enough words. But as he kneels with his head against my lap, I wish I was still the girl who would have long to gather him in her arms. He thinks I am her. Sometimes so do I, but I am not. He is trying to apologize. I touch his copper hair and hope he knows that there is no need for my forgiveness. In fact, I am the one who should be kneeling.

Maybe, he is trying to be close to the baby, to me. 

There is a snap of a branch. The Hound turns around warily, as I raise my head. The Queen is behind us. She must have come to the godswood to find me. The Hound stands and Daenerys does not break his gaze. She speaks and her voice is ice, “Hound, I need you.”

Whatever she had hoped to say to me is lost in her worry over the exchange she has witnessed. He follows her, never questioning, looking back once. It is the last exchange we have in King's Landing. 

If I had known that, I might have willed myself to say more but no one knows the future and what it holds. 

I am pregnant, three months. It is a simple thing on so many levels but it is very complicated. Even though the Queen is finally with child, I am not allowed to leave. After all, there is a Targaryen inside me. 

There might not be. I sometimes wonder what will happen if a tall red-headed son is born. I wonder how quickly my head will adorn the walls of King’s Landing for treason. However, my child will be a Stark and might be brought to Winterfell. I imagine Jon would have kindness to my bastard, a softness for the tiny infant. 

I have spent my days walking in the godswood, eating lunch with Missandei, and playing cyvasse with Tyrion. Since I am pregnant, since the Queen is pregnant, Tyrion has come to see me almost every day. I am no longer a suspect, a traitor. Slowly I am a gift, a blessing to the Queen. With my change from traitor to blessing, there come simple gifts like spending time in conversation with another human. 

Mostly we talk about the weather, trade agreements, new building projects. A week before the Feast of the Stranger, Tyrion takes my hand and asks,”Tell me about her, Cathryn.”

“She is pretty like Myrcella but she has strawberry blonde curls, green eyes. She is stubborn and smart. I worry about her stubbornness and her intelligence now that she is away from me. Petyr took her to the Queen and that is almost a year ago. I do not know what he hoped to gain but whatever his scheme was it failed when he lost his head.”

“I have found her, Sansa. She is safe and well. She is delightful. Though she may look like Myrcella, she is a Stark, like her mother.” 

He hands me a piece of paper that he has folded to fit in his pocket. I open it. Inside is a small sketch with colored pencils. It is Cathryn. Tyrion must have seen her and had her portrait made for me. Tears spring to my eyes. I cannot wipe them away.

He continues speaking, “ I would have never let anyone take her from you, not even me. She will be in your care soon. Have faith.”

“Tyrion, I cannot repay such kindness. Even if I was home, the North is still in terrible shape from the Wars. There is little gold.”

“You do not have to repay me or owe me any favor. It is the least I can do. Perhaps, if I need an heir at the end of all this, she will get Casterly Rock but we can worry about that later. First, we will get you to our daughter.” 

Four days later that the King sends word that he wishes to see me in his chambers alone this night. It has been so many months that we have not been alone together. I find myself wondering what has brought this on. 

The Feast of the Stranger is upon the Seven Kingdoms. For the next four nights, the city and the Red Keep is decorated with colored lanterns and ribbons of black and white. Every night, people wear masks and fill the streets with parties and dances. The Queen usually holds her own revelries for the court, but this year, she has chosen to abstain with the upcoming birth of the heir.

When I arrive at the King’s solar, there is a beautiful gown in finest red Myrish lace. Attached to it is a note written in Jon’s hand, Get dressed. We are going out to celebrate. 

Quickly, I dress into the gown, leaving my costume on the floor. There are two combs of silver wolves with carved pearls and ivory. I brush my hair and put the combs in. It is simple and plain, but the color of my hair is still lovely even with no elaborate braids or styles. 

I sit and wait. I do not wait long. A hidden door opens and Aegon is standing there with a smile on his face. He may be Aegon VII but tonight he is dressed as Jon Snow, the White Wolf. He has his black fur cloak and he is dressed in fine black leather and black gloves. “Come, Sansa, the wheelhouse awaits.”

I take his hand and through the tunnels of Maegor’s Keep, we go. We come to a door and open it to a yard. The wheelhouse is there with four black horses to pull it. The guard opens the door and I get in. The night air is cool and there is a feeling of excitement of doing something unexpected and slightly dangerous. 

Sitting so close in the carriage with him, my heart beats quickly as we ride through the streets of King's Landing. In the wheelhouse, the King hands me a silver mask with white feathers that looks like fur from a wolf, a white wolf. He wears a black one with red rubies. Jon speaks, “Tonight we can walk among the people like we are one of them like we are a couple.”

His voice trails off as he hands me a flask with pear brandy from Tyrosh. I drink deeply and hand it back to him; he does the same. 

When the door of the wheelhouse opens, we are on the stone streets of Flea Bottom. In front of us is Tyanna’s. Tyanna’s is a brothel, a tavern for the most upscale customer. I have been in these place before only once when Petyr still lived before the Dragon Queen separated him from his head. However, there is no one there that will recognize me. When I came with Petyr I was still Alayne Stone, his bastard that he had an unhealthy attraction to. 

Tyanna’s is full of people in elaborate masks, velvet costumes of color and the most beautiful gowns. There are women dancing in provocative ways on stages throughout the room. There are servants of men and women, pouring wine and getting food for the guests. I wonder why Jon has taken me here. 

We watch the spectacle for a while and he takes me by the hand to a room. Suddenly, I realize that I have been foolish not understanding why he has taken me here. The King would like to be alone with me. Together. I realize that I want to be alone with him. Part of me wants him to beg me to stay and be with him. Part of me thinks I would stay and wait for him her at this brothel, just for his occasional touch and kiss. It must be the hormones, the night, being outside the keep. 

Inside the room, Jon takes me in his arms and kisses my forehead. My hands fumble at the ties of his jacket as I lean on tip-toes to kiss him.

"Stop," he says his voice cracks 

 

Jon continues, "Perhaps, I want your kisses not because I am your King and that compels you, but as if you and I were equals and you desired me as a man. I allowed myself to think I was a King of Old and could do as I liked, as the Queen does. That is not who I am. Maybe, I am realizing who I am. Maybe I am realizing it is a heavy crown I wear and that I will wear it until I die." 

 

"You are free, Sansa. I want to make right some of what I have done wrong. It will not make up for all I have done and it might not be enough for you to forgive me, but it is all I can do. You will be returned to the North where you will be safe."

Sansa asks, touching her stomach, “What about the baby?"

"It is your baby, a Stark. Bring it home. A Stark is never truly safe south of the Neck. The Queen is not well. She has not been thinking clearly. Now that she is pregnant, she will be more reasonable."

 

Before I leave, I hug him tightly and kiss him on the cheek.

 

Jon guided me to a door in the back of the room. "We have misused you go. Go. I have your daughter waiting for you." 

I opened the door and Tyrion was there, waiting for me with a torch. We walk quickly down the darkened stairway and do not speak. When we come to the end of the stairs, Tyrion opened a door and a dock is ahead of us. There is a small sturdy ship at the dock, being made ready to set sail.

A wheelhouse is also waiting. When we emerge, the door to the wheelhouse opens. An old woman steps out of a wheelhouse with Cathryn, sleeping in her arms. 

Tyrion watches me gently take my daughter from the old woman. He speaks, “This is Bess. She is Cathryn’s nurse. Cathryn loves her as much as she loves puppies and lemon cakes. She is a faithful friend. Take her with you to Winterfell. The child loves her.”

“Of course.”

“I must leave you here. There are twenty-five, loyal men to Tyrion Lannister on that ship. They will make sure you are safe at White Harbor. I am sure the Manderlys and the rest of the North will keep you safe to Winterfell from White Harbor.”

I bend down, awkwardly with the child in my arms. I will not put her down until we are safe in Winterfell, even then I might not. “Thank you.” 

 

I kiss his cheek, “Tyrion, you should come to Winterfell. Cathryn could use a friend at court. She would like a father, as well. You are welcome to Winterfell, but please leave the Queen here.”

 

The night is dark and the ship leaves Blackwater Bay with little announcement. My daughter is in my arms and we are heading home to the North.


	6. Epilogue

Later that year, the Queen gives birth to twin sons, Aemon and Aegon. Her period of barrenness is broken like a curse in a fairy tale. The following year, a princess, Rhaella, and the next year another prince, Jaehaerys, are born to the royal couple. Four children in four years.

Within the year, the Hound dies fighting pirates off the coast of the Stepstones. His body is never recovered. 

Three years later, Tyrion goes to Winterfell and returns to court, stating that the North is doing well. Lady Stark is doing well, as are her children. Lady Sansa has two children, a girl of six, Cathryn Stark, and a boy of three with dark red hair that she named, Robert Stark, but they call him Robb. 

Tyrion does not speak of it but he thinks about the tall guard that stood beside Sansa, the one who always wore a helmet. It makes him smile. The Lord of Casterly Rock had recognized him, even with his burned face covered. After all, the Cleganes had been in the service of the Lannisters for generations. Tyrion had wondered if the King knew, but he would not tell. After all, Lady Sansa and her children are safe with that giant beside her. She seemed happy, as did the children. 

 

Aegon Targaryen laughs when he hears the name of Lady Sansa ’s son. 

 

The Queen does not laugh. She raises her eyebrow, speaking. “Your cousin is bold to name the boy after the Usurper.”

Queen Daenerys is too polite and cautious to bring up the fact that she did not name the children's surname, Snow. 

“My cousin is bold,” Aegon says, laughing but his smile is big and as bright as the Seven-Pointed Star above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finished. As I wrote it and time passed, it changed. I had a whole chapter about Tyanna's and Jeyne Poole was there. I wanted to write more but I wanted to keep it under 10K words, too.
> 
> When I had originally thought of this, it was dark, much darker. As I wrote, it changed and I wanted Sansa safe and happy, So that is what happened.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it.


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